prejudice, which Annie never permitted an opportunity to pass withoutcarefully instilling. Why did she then permit his attentions? She knewnot; while listening to his voice, there was a fascination about him shecould not resist, but in her solitary hours she studiously banished hisimage to give place to one whom, by the representations of Annie, shepersuaded herself that she loved alone.

Genuine, indeed, had been the enjoyment of Caroline Hamilton, from thefirst moment she had entered the ball-room; but if it could beheightened, it was when, about the middle of the evening, LordAlphingham entered. A party of gay young men instantly surrounded him,but breaking from them all, he attached himself the greater part of thenight to Mr. Hamilton. Only two quadrilles he danced with Caroline, butthey were enough to aid the schemes of Annie. She was at hand to excite,to an almost painful degree, the mind of her friend, to speak inrapturous praise of Lord Alphingham, to chain him now and then to herside, and yet so contrive, that the whole of his conversation was withCaroline; and yet the conduct of Annie Grahame had been such that nightas rather to excite the admiration than the censure of Mr. Hamilton.Playfully he combated the prejudice of his wife, who as sportively ownedthat Miss Grahame's conduct in society was different to that she hadanticipated; but her penetrative mind felt not the more at ease when shethought on the friendship that subsisted between Annie and her child.

"Am I dreaming, or is it Mrs. Hamilton I again behold?" exclaimed anelderly gentleman, as she came forward, and hastily advancing, seizedboth her hands, and pressed them with unfeigned warmth and pleasure,which greeting Mrs. Hamilton as cordially returned. He was a very oldfriend of her father's, and had attained by promotion his present highrank of Admiral of the Blue, but had been the first captain under whoseorders her lamented brother sailed. Very many, therefore, were theassociations that filled her mind as she beheld him, and her mild eyesfor a moment glistened in uncontrollable emotion.

"How very many changes have taken place since we have come alongside,Mrs. Hamilton," the old veteran said, gazing on the blooming matronbefore him with almost paternal pleasure. "Poor Delmont! could his kindheart have borne up against the blow of poor Charles's fate, he surelywould have been happy, if all the tales I hear of his daughter Emmelinebe true."

"Come and judge for yourself, Sir George; my home must ever be open tomy father's dearest friend," replied Mrs. Hamilton, endeavouring byspeaking playfully to conceal the painful reminiscences called forth byhis words. "I will not vouch for the truth of anything you may haveheard about us in London. You must contrive to moor your ship into theharbour of Oakwood, and thus gratify us all."

"Ay, ay; take care that I do not cast anchor there so long, that youwill find the best thing will be to cut the cables, send me adrift, andthus get rid of me," replied the old sailor, delighted at her addressinghim in nautical phrase. "Your appearance here has belied half thestories I heard; so now that you have given me permission, I shall setsail to discover the truth of the rest."

"You heard, I suppose, that Mr. Hamilton never intended his children tovisit London? They were too good, too--what may I term it?--too perfect,to mingle with their fellow-creatures; is not that it, Admiral?"demanded Mrs. Hamilton, with a smile.

"Ay, ay; something very like it,--but glad to see the wind is changedfrom that corner. Don't like solitude, particularly for youngfolks,--and how many are here?"

"Of my children?" The veteran nodded. "But one, my eldest girl. I do notconsider her sister quite old enough to be introduced."

"And you left her in harbour, and only permitted one frigate to cruise.If she had any of her uncle Charles's spirit, she would have shown somelittle insubordination at that piece of discipline, Mrs. Hamilton," saidthe old man, joyously.

"Not if my authority is established somewhat like Sir George's, on thebasis of affection," replied Mrs. Hamilton, again smiling.

"Ay, you have learnt that secret of government, have you? Now who wouldthink this was the little quiet girl I had dandled on my knee, and toldher tales of storm and war that made her shudder? And where are yoursons?"

"Both at college."

"What, neither of them a chip of the old block, and neither of them forthe sea? Don't like their taste. No spirit of salt-water within them."

"But neither of them deficient in spirit for a life on shore. But,however, to set your heart at ease, for the naval honour of our family,Sir George, I have a nephew, who, I think, some few years hence willprove a brave and gallant son of Neptune. The accounts we have of himare most pleasing. He has inherited all poor Charles's spirit anddaring, as well as that true courage, for which you have said my brotherwas so remarkable."

"Glad of it--glad of it; but what nephew? who is he? A nephew of Mr.Hamilton's will not raise the glory of the Delmont family; and you hadonly one brother, if I remember rightly?"

"Have you quite forgotten the beautiful girl, who, when I last had thepleasure of meeting you in such a scene as this, was the object ofuniversal attraction? You surely remember my father's favourite Eleanor,Sir George?"

"Eleanor--Eleanor--let me think;" and the old sailor for a moment puthimself in a musing attitude, and then starting, exclaimed, "to be sureI do; the loveliest girl I ever cast eyes upon;--and what has become ofher? By the bye, there was some story about her, was there not? Shechose a husband for herself, and ran off, and broke her poor father'sheart. Where is she now?"

"Die! Is she, too, dead? What, that graceful sylph, that exquisitecreature I see before me now, in all the pride of conscious loveliness!"and the veteran drew his rough hand across his eyes in unfeignedemotion, then hastily recovering himself, he said, "and this boy--thissailor is her son. I can hardly believe it possible. Why he surelycannot be old enough to go to sea."

"You forget the number of years that have passed, Sir George. Edward isnow eighteen, as old, if not older, than his mother was when you lastsaw her."

"And when did poor Eleanor die?"

"Six years ago. She had been left a widow in India, and only reached hernative land to breathe her last in my arms. You will be pleased, Ithink, with her daughter, though, on second thought, perhaps, she maynot be quite lively enough for you; however, I must beg your notice forher, as her attachment to her brother is so excessive, that all relatingto the sea is to her in the highest degree interesting."

"And do your sister's children live with you--had their father norelations?"

"None; and even if he had, I should have petitioned to bring them up andadopt them as my own. Poor children, when their mother died, theirsituation was indeed melancholy. Helpless orphans of ten and scarcelytwelve, cast on a strange land, without one single friend to whom theycould look for succour or protection. My heart bled for them, and neveronce have I regretted my decision."

The old man looked at her glowing cheek in admiration, and pressing herhand, he said warmly, prefacing his words, as he always did, with theaffirmative "ay, ay."

"Your father's daughter must be somewhat different to others of herrank. I must come and see you, positively I must. Wind and tide will bestrongly against me, if you do not see me in a few days anchoring offyour coast. No storms disturb your harbour, I fancy. But what has becomeof your husband--your daughter? let me see all I can belonging to you.Come, Mrs. Hamilton, crowd sail, and tow me at once to my wished forport."

Entering playfully into the veteran's humour, Mrs. Hamilton took his armand returned to the ball-room, where she was speedily joined by herhusband, who welcomed Sir George Wilmot with as much warmth andcordiality as his wife had done, and as soon as the quadrille wasfinished, a glance from her mother brought Caroline and her partner,Lord Alphingham, to her side.

The astonishment of Sir George, as Mrs. Hamilton introduced the bloominggirl before him as her daughter, was so irresistibly comic, that no onepresent could prevent a smile; and that surprise was heightened when, inanswer to his supposition that she must be the eldest of Mrs. Hamilton'sfamily, Mrs. Hamilton replied that her two sons were both older, andCaroline was, indeed, the youngest but one.

"Then I tell you what, Mrs. Hamilton," the old veteran said, "Old Timehas been playing tricks with me, and drawing me much nearer eternitythan I at all imagined myself, or else he has stopped with me and goneon with you."

"Or rather, my good friend," replied Mr. Hamilton, "you can only tracethe hand of Time upon yourself, having no children in whose increasingyears you can behold him, and, therefore, he is very likely to slip thecable before you are aware; but with us such cannot be."

"Ay, ay, Hamilton, suppose it must be so--wish I had some children of myown, but shall come and watch Time's progress on these instead. Ah, MissHamilton, why am I such an old man? I see all the youngsters running offwith the pretty girls, and I cannot venture to ask one to dance withme."

"May I venture to ask you then, Sir George? The name of Admiral Wilmotwould be sufficient for any girl, I should think, to feel proud of herpartner, even were he much older and much less gallant than you, SirGeorge," answered Caroline, with ready courtesy, for she had often heardher mother speak of him, and his manner pleased her.

"Well, that's a pretty fair challenge, Sir George; you must take up theglove thrown from so fair a hand," observed Lord Alphingham, with asmile that, to Caroline, and even to her mother, rendered his strikinglyhandsome features yet handsomer. "Shall I relinquish my partner?"

"No, no, Alphingham; you are better suited to her here. At home--at your_own_ home, Miss Hamilton, one night, I shall remind you of yourpromise, and we will trip it together. Now I can only thank you for yourcourtesy; it has done my heart good, and reconciled me to my old age."

"I may chance to find a rival at home, Sir George. If you see my sister,you will not be content with me. She will use every effort to surpass mein your good graces; for when I tell her I have seen the brave admiralwhose exploits have often caused her cheek to flush with pride--patriotpride she calls it--she will be wild till she has seen you."

"Will she--will she, indeed? Come and see her to-morrow; tell her so,with an old man's love, and that I scolded your mother heartily for notbringing her to-night. Mind orders; let me see if you are sailor enoughinstinctively to obey an old captain's orders."

"Trust me, Sir George," replied Caroline, laughingly, and a young man atthat instant addressing her by name, she bowed gracefully to theveteran, and turned towards him who spoke.

"Miss Hamilton, I claim your promise for this quadrille," said LordHenry D'Este.

"Good bye," said Sir George. "I shall claim you for my partner when Isee you at home."

"St. Eval dancing again. Merciful powers! we certainly shall have theroof tumbling over our heads," exclaimed Lord Henry, as he and Carolinefound themselves _vis a vis_ to the earl of whom he spoke.

"Why, is it so very extraordinary that a young man should dance?"demanded Caroline.

"A philosopher as he is, decidedly. You do not know him, Miss Hamilton.He travelled all over Europe, I believe, really for the sake ofimprovement, instead of enjoying all the fun he might have had; hestored his brain with all sorts of knowledge, collecting material andstealing legends to write a book. I went with him part of the way, butbecame so tired of my companion, that I turned recreant and fled, toenjoy a more spirited excursion of my own. I tell him, whenever I want alecture on all subjects, I shall come to him. I call him the WalkingCyclopaedia, and only fancy such a personage dancing a quadrille. Whatlady can have the courage to turn over the leaves of the Cyclopaedia ina quadrille? let me see. Oh, Lady Lucy Melville, our noble hostess'sdaughter. She pretends to be a bit of a blue, therefore they are not soill-matched as I imagined; however, she is not very bad--not a deepblue, only just tinged with celestial azure. Sweet creature, how youwill be edified before your lesson is over. Look, Miss Hamilton, on theother side of the Cyclopaedia. That good lady has been the last sevenyears dancing with all her might and main for a husband. There isanother, striving, by an air of elegant hauteur, to prove she issomething very great, when really she is nothing at all. There's a girljust introduced, as our noble poet says."

"Take care, take care, Lord Henry; you are treading on dangerousground," exclaimed Caroline, unable to prevent laughing at the comicmanner in which her companion criticised the dancers. "You forget that Itoo have only just been released, and that this is only my first glimpseof the world."

"You do me injustice, Miss Hamilton. I am too delightfully andrefreshingly reminded of that truth to forget it for one instant. Youmay have only just made your _debut_, but you have not been schooled andscolded, and frightened into propriety as that unfortunate girl has. Ifshe has smiled once too naturally, spoken one word too much, made onestep wrong, or said sir, my lord, your lordship, once too often, shewill have such a lecture to-morrow, she will never wish to go to a ballagain."

"Poor girl!" said Caroline, in a tone of genuine pity, which caused asmile from her partner.

"She is not worthy of your pity, Miss Hamilton; she is hardened to itall. What a set we are dancing with, men and women, all heartless alike;but I want to know what magic wand has touched St. Eval. I do believe itmust be your eyes, Miss Hamilton. He talks to his partner, and looks atyou; tries to do two things at once, listen to her, and hear your voice.You are the enchantress, depend upon it."

A glow of triumph burned on the heart of Caroline at these words. Forthough rather prejudiced against St. Eval by the arts of Annie, still,to make an impression on one whom she had heard was invulnerable to all,to make the calm, and some said, severely stoical, St. Eval bend beneathher power, was a triumph she determined to achieve. That spirit ofcoquetry so fatal to her aunt, the ill-fated Eleanor, was as innate inthe bosom of Caroline; no opportunity had yet offered to give it play,still the seeds were there, and she could not resist the temptation nowpresented. Even in her childhood Mrs. Hamilton had marked this fatalpropensity. Every effort had been put in force to check it, every gentlecounsel given, but arrested in its growth though it was, erased entirelyit could not be. The principles of virtue had been too carefullyinstilled, for coquetry to attain the same ascendancy and indulgencewith Caroline as it had with her aunt, yet she felt she could no longercontrol the inclination which the present opportunity afforded her touse her power.

"Do you go to the Marchioness of Malvern's fete, next week?" demandedLord Henry. Caroline answered in the affirmative.

"I am glad of it. The Walking Cyclopaedia may make himself as agreeablethere as he has so marvellously done to-night. You will be in fairyland. He has brought flowers from every country, and reared them for hismother, till they have become the admiration of all for miles around. Itold him he looked like a market gardener, collecting flowers from everyplace he went to. I dragged him away several times, and told him hewould certainly be taken for a country booby, and scolded him fordemeaning his rank with such ignoble pleasures, and what wise answer doyou think he made me?"

"A very excellent one, I have no doubt."

"Or it would not come from such a learned personage, Miss Hamilton.Really it was so philosophic, I was obliged to learn it as a lesson toretain it. That he, superior as he deemed himself, and that wild flowerwhich he tended with so much care, were alike the work of InfiniteWisdom, and as such, the study of the one could not demean the other. Istared at him, and for the space of a week dubbed him the PreachingPilgrim; but I was soon tired of that, and resumed his former one, whichcomprises all. I wonder at what letter the walking volume will be openedat his mother's fete?"

"I should imagine B," said Caroline, smiling.

"B--B--what does B stand for? I have forgotten how to spell--let me see.Ah! I have it,--excellent, admirable! Miss Hamilton. Lecture on Botanyfrom the Walking Cyclopaedia--bravo! We had better scrape up all ourlearning, to prove we are not perfect ignoramuses on the subject."

Caroline laughingly agreed; and the quadrille being finished, LordHenry succeeded in persuading her to accompany him to therefreshment-room.

In the meanwhile, perfectly unconscious that he had been the subject ofthe animated conversation of his _vis a vis_, St. Eval was finding moreand more to admire in Miss Hamilton. He conducted his partner to herseat as she desired, and then strolled towards Mr. Hamilton's party, inthe hope that Caroline would soon rejoin her mother; but Annie had beenin the refreshment-room, and she did not reappear for some little time.Mrs. Hamilton had at length been enabled to seek Lady Helen Grahame,with whom she remained conversing, for she felt, though the delay wasunavoidable, she partly deserved the reproach with which Lady Helengreeted her, when she entered, for permitting the whole evening to passwithout coming near her. Mrs. Hamilton perceived, with regret, that shewas more fitted for the quiet of her own boudoir, than the glare andheat of crowded rooms. Gently she ventured to expostulate with her onher endeavours, and Lady Helen acknowledged she felt quite unequal tothe exertion, but that the persuasions of her daughter had brought herthere. She was too indolent to add, she had seen nothing of Annie thewhole evening; nor did she wish to say anything that might increase thedisapprobation with which she sometimes felt, though Annie heeded itnot, Mrs. Hamilton regarded her child. It was admiration, almostveneration, which Lady Helen felt for Mrs. Hamilton, and no one couldhave imagined how very frequently the indolent but well-meaning womanhad regretted what she deemed was her utter inability to act with thesame firmness that characterised her friend. She was delighted at thenotice Lilla ever received from her; but blinded by the artful mannersof her elder girl, she often wished that Annie had been the favouriteinstead. There was somewhat in Mrs. Hamilton's manner that night thatcaused her to feel her own inferiority more than ever; but noself-reproach mingled with the feeling. She could not be like her, andthen why should she expect or deplore what was impossible. Leaning onMrs. Hamilton's arm, she resolved, however, to visit the ball-room, andthey reached Mr. Hamilton at the instant Grahame joined them.

"You here, Grahame!" exclaimed his friend, as he approached. "I thoughtyou had forsworn such things."

"I make an exception to-night," he answered. "I wished to see my fairfriend Caroline where I have longed to see her."

"You are honoured, indeed, Mrs. Hamilton," Lady Helen could not refrainfrom saying. "He was not present at the _entree_ even of his owndaughter."

"And why was I not, Lady Helen? because I would not by my presence givethe world reason to say I also approved of the very early age at whichMiss Grahame was introduced. If I do not mistake, she is four monthsyounger than Caroline, and yet my daughter is no longer a novice in suchscenes as these."

Lady Helen shrunk in terror from the stern glance of her husband, wholittle knew the pain he inflicted; and Mrs. Hamilton hastily, butcautiously drew her away to enter into conversation with the Marchionessof Malvern, who was near them, which little manoeuvre quickly removedthe transient cloud; and though soon again compelled to seek the shelterof the quiet little room she had quitted, the friendly kindness of Mrs.Hamilton succeeded in making Lady Helen's evening end more agreeablythan it had begun.

"Are you only just released, Grahame?" demanded Lord Alphingham, whostill remained near Mr. Hamilton.

"You are less fortunate than I was, or perhaps you will think, inparliamentary concerns, more so; but as the ball was uppermost in mythoughts this evening, I was glad to find myself at liberty above anhour ago."

"Is there nothing, then, stirring in the Upper House?"

"Nothing; I saw many of the noble members fast asleep, and those whospoke said little to the purpose. When do you gentlemen of the LowerHouse send up your bill? it will be a charity to give us something todo."

"We shall be charitable then on Friday next, and I much doubt if you donot have some warm debating work. If we succeed, it will be a glorioustriumph; the Whigs are violent against us, and they are by far thestrongest party. I depend greatly on your eloquence, Alphingham."

"It is yours to the full extent of its power, my good friend; it carriessome weight along with it, I believe, and I would gladly use it in agood cause."

"Did you speak to-night, Grahame?" Mr. Hamilton asked, evincing by hisanimated countenance an interest in politics, which, from his retiredlife, no one believed that he possessed. Grahame eagerly entered intothe detail of that night's debate, and for a little time the threegentlemen were absorbed in politics alone. The approach of Caroline andher mother, however, caused Grahame suddenly to break off in his speech.

"A truce with debates, for the present," he gaily exclaimed. "Hamilton,I never saw Caroline's extraordinary likeness to you till this moment.What a noble-looking girl she is! Ah, Hamilton, I could pardon you ifyou were much prouder of your children than you are."

An involuntary sigh broke from his lips as he spoke, but checking it, hehastened to Caroline, and amused her with animated discourse, till LordAlphingham and Eugene St. Eval at the same instant approached, the oneto claim, the other to request, Caroline as his partner in the lastquadrille before supper. The shade of deep disappointment which passedover the young Earl's expressive countenance as Caroline eagerlyaccepted the Viscount's offered arm, and owned she had been engaged tohim some time, at once confirmed to her flattered fancy the truth ofLord Henry's words, and occasioned a feeling near akin to pleasure inthe equally observant mother. Mrs. Hamilton shrunk with horror at theidea of introducing her child into society merely for the purpose ofdecoying a husband; but she must have been void of natural feeling hadnot the thought very often crossed her mind, that the time was drawingnigh when her daughter's earthly destiny would, in all probability, befixed for ever; and in the midst of the tremblings of maternal love thenatural wish would mingle, that noble rank and manly virtue might be theendowments of him who would wed her Caroline, and amongst those nobleyouths with whom she had lately mingled, she had seen but one her fondheart deemed on all points worthy of her child, and that one was theyoung Earl Eugene St. Eval. That he was attracted, her penetrating eyecould scarcely doubt, but farther she would not think; and so great washer sensitiveness on this head, that much as she admired the young man,she was much more reserved with him than she would have been had shesuspected nothing of his newly dawning feelings.

St. Eval did not join in the quadrille, and after lingering by Mrs.Hamilton till she was invited to the supper-room, he aroused theincreased merriment of his tormentor, Lord Henry, by offering her hisarm, conducting her to supper, and devoting himself to her, he declared,as if she were the youngest and prettiest girl in the room.

"Playing the agreeable to mamma, to win the good graces of _la fille_.Admirable diplomacy; Lord St. Eval, I wish you joy of your new talent,"maliciously remarked Lord Henry, as the Earl and his companion passedhim. A glance from those dark eyes, severe enough to have sent terror tothe soul of any less reckless than Lord Henry, was St. Eval's onlyreply, and he passed on; and seldom did Mrs. Hamilton find a companionmore to her taste in a supper-room than the young Earl. The leaves ofthe Walking Cyclopaedia were indeed then opened, Henry D'Este would havesaid, for on very many subjects did St. Eval allow himself that eveningto converse, which, except to his mother and sisters, were ever lockedin the recesses of his own reflecting mind; but there was a kindness,almost maternal, which Mrs. Hamilton unconsciously used to every youngperson who sought her company, and that charm the young and giftednobleman never could resist. He spoke of her sons in a manner that couldnot fail to attract a mother's heart. The six months he had spent withthem at college had been sufficient for him to form an intimatefriendship with Percy, whose endeavours to gain his esteem he had beenunable to resist; while he regretted that the reserved disposition ofHerbert, being so like his own, had prevented his knowing him so well ashis brother. He spoke too of a distant relative of Mrs. Hamilton's, thepresent Lord Delmont, in whom, as the representative of her ancientfamily, she was much interested. St. Eval described with eloquence thelovely villa he occupied on the banks of Lago Guardia, near thefrontiers of the Tyrol, the health of his only sister, some few yearsyounger than himself, not permitting them to live in England; he hadgiven up all the invitations to home and pleasure held out to him by hisfather-land, and retiring to Italy, devoted himself entirely to hismother and sister.

"He is a brother and son after your own heart, Mrs. Hamilton," concludedSt. Eval, with animation, "and that is the highest compliment I can payhim."

Mrs. Hamilton smiled, and as she gazed on the glowing features of theyoung man, she thought he who could so well appreciate such virtuescould not be--nay, she knew he was not--deficient in them himself, andstronger than ever became her secret wish; but she hastily banished it,and gave her sole attention to the interesting subjects on which St.Eval continued to speak.

For some few hours after supper the ball continued, with even, perhaps,more spirit than it had commenced; but St. Eval did not ask Caroline todance again. He fancied she preferred Alphingham's attentions, and hissensitive mind shrunk from being again refused. Caroline knew not theheart of him over whom she had resolved to use her power, perhaps if shehad, she would have hesitated in her determination. The leastencouragement made his heart glow with an uncontrollable sensation ofexquisite pleasure, while repulse bade it sink back with an equal if nota greater degree of pain. St. Eval was conscious of this weakness in hischaracter; he was aware that he possessed a depth of feeling, whichunless steadily controlled, would tend only to his misery; and it wasfor this he clothed himself in impenetrable reserve, and obtained fromthe world the character of being proud and disagreeable. He dreaded thefirst entrance of love within his bosom, for instinctively he felt thathis very sensitiveness would render the passion more his misery than hisjoy. We are rather sceptics in the doctrine of love at first sight, butin this case it was fervid and enduring, as if it had risen on the solidbasis of intimacy and esteem. From the first hour he had spent in thesociety of Caroline Hamilton, Eugene St. Eval loved. He tried to subdueand conquer his newly-awakened feelings, and would think he hadsucceeded, but the next hour he passed in her society brought the truthclearer than ever before his eyes; her image alone occupied his heart.He shrunk, in his overwrought sensitiveness, from paying her thoseattentions which would have marked his preference; he did not wish toexcite the remarks of the world, nor did he feel that he possessedsufficient courage to bear the repulse, with which, if she did notregard him, and if she were the girl he fancied her, she would cheek hisforwardness. But his heart beat high, and it was with some difficulty hecontrolled his emotion, when he perceived that Caroline refused to danceeven with Lord Alphingham on several occasions, to continue conversingwith himself. How his noble spirit would have chafed and bled, could hehave known it was love of power and coquetry that dictated her manner,and not regard, as for the time he allowed himself to fancy.

The evening closed, the noble guests departed, and daylight had resumedits reign over the earth by the time Mr. Hamilton's carriage stopped inBerkeley Square. Animatedly had Caroline conversed with her parents onthe pleasures of the evening during their drive; but when she reachedher own room, when Martyn had left her, and she was alone, she was notquite sure if a few faint whisperings of self-reproach did not in adegree alloy the retrospection of this her first glimpse of the gayworld; but quickly--perhaps too quickly--they were banished. Theattentions of Lord Alphingham--heightened in their charm by MissGrahame's positive assurance to her friend that the Viscount wasattracted, there was not the very slightest doubt of it--and theproposed pleasure of compelling the proud, reserved St. Eval to yield toher fascinations, alone occupied her fancy. To make him her captivewould be triumph indeed. She wished, too, to show Annie she was not socompletely under control as she fancied; that she, too, could act withthe spirit of a girl of fashion; and to choose St. Eval, andsucceed--charm him to her side--force him to pay her attentions which noother received, would, indeed, prove to her fashionable companions thatshe was not so entirely governed by her mother, so very simple andspiritless as they supposed. Her power should do that which all hadattempted in vain. Her cheek glowed, her heart burned with the brighthope of expected triumph, and when she at length sunk to sleep, it wasto dream of St. Eval at her feet.

Oh! were the counsels, the example, the appeal of her mother allforgotten? Was this a mother's recompense? Alas! alas!

CHAPTER IV.

Numerous were the cards and invitations now left at Mr. Hamilton's door;and the world, in its most tempting form, was indeed spread beforeCaroline, although, perhaps, compared with the constant routine ofpleasure pursued by some young ladies who attend two or three assemblieseach of the six nights out of the seven, her life could scarcely becalled gay. Mr. Hamilton had drawn a line, and, difficult as it was tokeep, he adhered to his resolution, notwithstanding the entreaties ofhis friends, and very often those of his daughter. A dinner-party and aball he would sometimes permit Caroline to attend in one day, but theflying from house to house, to taste of every pleasure offered, he neverwould allow. Nor did he or any member of his family ever attend theOpera on Saturday night, however great might be the attractions. ToEmmeline this was a great privation, as poetry and music had ever beenher chief delights, and the loss of even one night's enjoyment was feltseverely; but she acquiesced without a murmur, appreciating the truth ofher father's remark, that it was impossible to pay attention to theSabbath duties when the previous evening had been thus employed. Sheknew, too, how difficult it was to attend to her studies (due regard forwhich her parents required amidst every recreation) on the Wednesday,with every air she had so delighted in the previous night ringing in herears. Those who were eager to condemn Mrs. Hamilton whenever theycould, declared it was the greatest inconsistency to take Emmeline tothe Opera, and permit her to appear so often in company at home, and yetin other matters he so strict; why could she not bring her out at once,instead of only tantalizing her? but Mrs. Hamilton could never doanything like anybody else. Her daughters were much to be pitied; and asfor her niece, she must pass a miserable life, for she was scarcely everseen. They had no doubt, with all Mrs. Hamilton's pretensions togoodness, that her poor niece was utterly neglected, and kept quite inthe background; because she was so beautiful, Mrs. Hamilton was jealousof the notice she might obtain.

So thought, and so very often spoke, the ill-natured half of the world,who, in reality, jealous and displeased at being excluded from Mr.Hamilton's visiting list, did everything in their power to lessen theestimation in which the family was held. In this, however, they couldnot succeed, nor in causing pain to those whom they wished to wound.Such petty malice demanded not a second thought from minds sowell-regulated as those of Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton. Mrs. Hamilton, indeed,turned their ill-natured remarks to advantage, for instead of neglectingor wholly despising them, she considered them in her own heart, and insolitary reflection pondered deeply if she in any way deserved them. Sheknew that the lesson of self-knowledge is never entirely learnt; and sheknew too, that an enemy may say that in ill-will or malice which mayhave some foundation, though our friends, aided by self-love, may havehidden the truth from us. Deeply did this noble woman think on her planof conduct; severely she scrutinized its every motive, and she was atpeace. Before entering upon it she had implored the Divine blessing, andshe felt that, in the case of Emmeline and Ellen, her prayers forguidance had not been unheeded. Perhaps her conduct, with regard to theformer, might have appeared inconsistent; but she felt no ill-willtowards those who condemned, knowing the disposition of her child, andcertainly those who thus spoke did not.

Although there was little more than fourteen months difference betweenthe age of the sisters, Emmeline was so much a child in simplicity andfeeling, that her mother felt assured it would neither be doing her goodnor tending to her happiness to introduce her with her sister; as, fromthe little difference in their ages, some mothers might have beeninclined to do. Yet she did not wish to keep her in such entireseclusion as some, even of her friends, advised, but permitted her theenjoyment of those innocent pleasures natural to her taste. Emmeline hadnever once murmured at this arrangement; however it interfered with hermost earnest wishes, her confidence in her parents was such, that sheever submitted to their wishes with cheerfulness. Mrs. Hamilton knew andsympathised in her feelings at leaving Oakwood. She felt there wereindeed few pleasures in London that could compensate to a dispositionsuch as Emmeline's for those she had left. She had seen, with joy andthankfulness, the conquest of self which her child had so perseveringlyachieved; and surely she was not wrong to reward her, by giving herevery gratification in her power, and endeavouring to make her as happyas she was at Oakwood. Emmeline was no longer a child, and thesepleasures interfered not with the attention her parents still wished herto bestow on the completion of her education. With all the innocence andquiet of a young child she enjoyed the select parties given by hermother with the same zest, but with the poetic feelings of dawningyouth. She absolutely revelled in the Opera, and there her mothergenerally accompanied her once a week. An artist might have found apleasing study in the contemplation of that young, bright face, as shesat entranced, every sense absorbed in the music which she heard, thevarying expression of her countenance reflecting every emotion actedbefore her. At such moments the fond mother felt it to be impossible todeny the young enthusiast the rich treat these musical recreationsafforded. A smile or look of sympathy was ever ready to meet the oftenuncontrolled expressions of delight which Emmeline could not suppress,for in thus listening to the compositions of our great masters, eventhose much older than Emmeline can seldom entirely command theiremotions. Natural as were the manners of Caroline in public, they almostresembled art when compared with those of her sister. Mrs. Hamilton'slesson on self-control had not been forgotten. Emmeline generallycontrived to behave with perfect propriety, except in moments ofexcitement such as these, where natural enthusiasm and almost childishglee would have their play, and her mother could not, would not checkthem.

With regard to Ellen, the thoughtless remarks of the world were indeedunfounded, as all who recollect the incidents detailed in former pageswill readily believe. Her health still continued so delicate asfrequently to occasion her aunt some anxiety. Through the winter,strange to say, she had not suffered, but the spring brought on, atintervals, those depressing feelings of languor which Mrs. Hamiltonhoped had been entirely conquered. The least exertion or excitementcaused her to suffer the following day, and therefore, except at verysmall parties, she did not appear even at home. No one could suspectfrom her quiet and controlled manner, and her apparently inanimatethough beautiful features, that she was as enthusiastic in mind and inthe delights of the Opera as her cousin Emmeline. By no one we do notmean her aunt, for Mrs. Hamilton could now trace every feeling of thatyoung and sorrowing heart, and she saw with regret, that in her niece'spresent state of health, even that pleasure must be denied her, for thevery exertion attendant on it was too much. Ellen never expressedregret, nor did she ever breathe even to her aunt how often, how veryoften, she longed once again to enjoy the fresh air of Oakwood, forLondon to her possessed not even the few attractions it did to Emmeline.She ever struggled to be cheerful, to smile when her aunt lookedanxiously at her, and strove to assure her that she was happy, perfectlyhappy. Her never appearing as Emmeline did, and so very seldom even athome, certainly gave matter for observation to those who, seeking forit, refused to believe the true reason of her retirement. Miss Harcourt,though she steadfastly refused to go out with her friend--for Mrs.Hamilton never could allow that she filled any situation save that of afriend and relation of the family--yet sometimes accompanied Emmeline tothe Opera, and always joined Mrs. Hamilton at home. Many, therefore,were the hours Ellen spent entirely alone, but she perseveredunrepiningly in the course laid down for her by the first medical man inLondon, whom her aunt had consulted.

How she employed those lonely hours Mrs. Hamilton never would inquire.Perfect liberty to follow her own inclinations she should enjoy atleast; but it was not without pain that Mrs. Hamilton so frequently lefther niece. She knew that the greatest privation, far more than any ofthe pleasures her cousins enjoyed, was the loss of her society. Themornings and evenings were now so much occupied, that it often happenedthat the Sabbath and the evening previous were the only times Ellencould have intercourse of any duration with her. She regretted thisdeeply, for Ellen was no longer a child; she was at that age when lifeis in general keenly susceptible to the pleasures of society; andreserved as was her disposition, Mrs. Hamilton felt assured, the loss ofthat unchecked domestic intercourse she had so long enjoyed at Oakwoodwas pain, though never once was she heard to complain. These contraryduties frequently grieved the heart of her aunt. Often she accompaniedCaroline when her inclination prompted her to remain at home; for sheloved Ellen as her own child, and to tend and soothe her would sometimeshave been the preferable duty; but she checked the wish, for sufferingand solitary as was Ellen, Caroline, in the dangerous labyrinth of theworld, required her care still more.

There are trials which the world regards not--trials on which there aremany who look lightly--those productive of no interest, seldom ofsympathy, but with pain to the sufferer; it is when health fails, notsufficiently to attract notice, but when the disordered state of thenerves renders the mind irritable, the body weak; when from thatinvisible weakness, little evils become great, the temper loses itsequanimity, the spirits their elasticity, we scarcely know wherefore,and we reproach ourselves, and add to our uneasiness by thinking we arebecoming pettish and ill-tempered, enervated and repining; we dare notconfess such feelings, for our looks proclaim not failing health, andwho would believe us? when the very struggle for cheerfulness fills theeye with tears, the heart with heaviness, and we feel provoked at ourpeevishness, and angry that we are so different now to what we havebeen; and we fancy, changed as we are, all we love can no longer regardus as formerly. Such are among the trials of woman, unknown, frequentlyunsuspected, by her nearest and dearest relations; and bitter indeed isit when such trials befall us in early youth, when liveliness andbuoyancy are expected, and any departure therefrom is imagined toproceed from causes very opposite to the truth. Such at present were thetrials of the orphan; but they were softened by the kindness andsympathy of her aunt, who possessed the happy art of soothing moreeffectually in a few words than others of a less kindly mould could everhave accomplished.

It is in the quick perception of character, in the adaptation of ourwords to those whom we address, that in domestic circles renders usbeloved, and forms the fascination of society. Sympathy is the charm ofhuman life, and when once that is made apparent, we are not slow indiscovering or imagining others. Some people find the encouragement ofsympathy disagreeable, for they say it makes them miserable for nopurpose. What care they for the woes and joys of their acquaintances?Often a tax, and never a pleasure. Minds of such nature know not thatthere is a "joy in the midst of grief;" but Mrs. Hamilton did, and sheencouraged every kindly feeling of her nature. Previous to her marriage,she had been perhaps too reserved and shrinking within herself, fanciedthere was no one of her own rank at least who could understand her, andtherefore none with whom she could sympathise. But the greaterconfidence of maturer years, the example of her husband, the emotions ofa wife and mother, had enlarged her heart, and caused her, by readysympathy with others, to increase her own enjoyments, and render herselfmore pleasing than perhaps, if she had remained single, she ever wouldhave been. It was this invisible charm that caused her to be admired andinvoluntarily loved, even by those who, considering her a saint atfirst, shrunk in dread from her society, and it was this that renderedthe frequent trials of her niece less difficult to bear.

"Does my Ellen remember a little conversation we had on the eve of herlast birthday?" demanded Mrs. Hamilton of her niece one evening, as shehad finished dressing, to attend her daughter to the Opera, and Martyn,at her desire, had obeyed Caroline's impatient summons, and left toEllen the task of fastening her lady's jewels.

Whenever nothing occurred to prevent it, Ellen was generally with heraunt at dressing-time, and the little conversation that passed betweenthem at such periods frequently rendered Ellen's solitary eveningcheerful, when otherwise it might have been, from her state of healthand apparently endless task, even gloomy. Mrs. Hamilton had observed amore than usual depression that evening in the manners of her niece,and, without noticing, she endeavoured to remove it. Ellen was bendingdown to clasp a bracelet as she spoke, and surprised at the question,looked up, without giving herself time to conceal an involuntary tear,though she endeavoured to remove any such impression, by smilingcheerfully as she replied in the affirmative.

"And will it cheer your solitary evenings, then, my dear Ellen?" shecontinued, drawing her niece to her, and kissing her transparent brow,"if I say that, in the self-denial, patience, and submission you are nowpractising, you are doing more, towards raising your character in myestimation, and banishing from remembrance the painful past, than youonce fancied it would ever be in your power to do. I think I know itsmotive, and therefore I do not hesitate to bestow the meed of praise youso well deserve."

For a minute Ellen replied not, she only raised her aunt's hand to herlips and kissed it, as if to hide her emotion before she spoke, but hereyes were still swelling with tears as she looked up andreplied--"Indeed, my dearest aunt, I do not deserve it. You do not knowhow irritable and ill-tempered I often feel."

"Because you are not very well, my love, and yet you do not feelsufficiently ill to complain. I sometimes fancy such a state of healthas yours is more difficult to bear than a severe though short illness,then, you can, at least, claim soothing consolation and sympathy. Now mypoor Ellen thinks she can demand neither," she added, smiling.

"I always receive both from you," replied Ellen, earnestly; "and notmuch submission is required when that is the case, and I am told myhealth forbids my sharing in Emmeline's pleasures."

"No, love, there would not be, if you felt so ill as to have no desirefor them; but that is not the case, for I know you very often feel quitewell enough to go out with me, and I am quite sure that my Ellensometimes wishes she were not so completely prohibited such amusements."

"I thought I had succeeded better in concealing those wishes," repliedEllen, blushing deeply.

"So you have, my dear girl, no one but myself suspects them; and youcould not expect to conceal them from me, Ellen, could you, whenEmmeline says it is utterly impossible to hide her most secret thoughtfrom my mystic wand? Do not attempt more, my love; persevere in yourpresent conduct, and I shall be quite satisfied. Have you an interestingbook for to-night, or is there any other employment you prefer?"

"You have banished all thoughts of gloom, my dear aunt, and perhaps,instead of reading, I shall work and think on what you have said,"exclaimed Ellen, her cheek becoming more crimsoned than it was before,and exciting for the moment the attention of her aunt. She, however,soon permitted it to pass from her thoughts, for she knew the leastemotion generally had that effect. Little did she imagine how thosesolitary hours were employed. Little did she think the cause of thatdeep blush, or guess the extent of comfort her words had bestowed on herniece, how they cheered the painful task the orphan believed it her dutyto perform. Spite of many obstacles of failing health, sheperseveringly continued, although as yet she approached not the end ofher desires. No gleam of light yet appeared to say her toil was nearlyover, her wish obtained.

The limits of our tale, as well as the many histories of individualsthese memoirs of the Hamilton family must embrace, will not permit us tolinger on the scenes of gaiety in which Caroline now mingled, and whichafforded her, perhaps, too many opportunities for the prosecution of herschemes; Miss Grahame's task was no longer difficult. Her confidenceonce given to another, she could not recall to bestow it upon hermother, from whom, the more she mingled in society, the more she becameestranged; and Annie became at once her confidant and adviser. Eager toprove she was not the simple-minded being she was believed, Carolineconfided her designs, with regard to St. Eval, to Miss Grahame, who, asmay be supposed, heightened and encouraged them. Had any one pointed outto Caroline she was acting with duplicity, departing from the line oftruth to which, even in her childhood, in the midst of many otherfaults, she had beautifully and strictly adhered, she might have shrunkback in horror; but where was the harm of a little innocent flirtation?Annie would repeatedly urge, if she fancied a doubt of the propriety ofsuch conduct was rising in her friend's mind, and she was ready withexamples of girls of high birth and exemplary virtues who practised itwith impunity: it gave a finish to the character of a woman, proved shewould sometimes act for herself, not always be in leading-strings; itgave a taste of power, gratified her ambition; in short, flirtation wasthe very acme of enjoyment, and gave a decided _ton_ before and aftermarriage.

St. Eval was not sanguine. But it was in vain he tried to resist thefascinations of the girl he loved, he could not for an instant doubt butthat she encouraged him; he even felt grateful, and loved her more forthose little arts and kindnesses with which she ever endeavoured to drawhim from his reserve, and chain him to her side. Could that noble spiritimagine she only acted thus to afford herself amusement for the time,and prove her power to her companions? Could she, the child of Mr. andMrs. Hamilton, act otherwise than honourably? We may pardon Lord St.Eval for believing it impossible, but bitterly was he deceived. Even hermother, her penetrating, confiding mother, was deceived, and no marvelthen that such should be the case with a comparative stranger.

Had Caroline's manner been more generally coquettish, Mrs. Hamilton'seyes might have been opened; but her behaviour in general was such asrather to diminish than increase those fears which, before her child hadjoined the world, had very frequently occupied her anxious heart. Tostrangers even, her encouragement of St. Eval might not have beenobservable, though it was clearly so to the watchful eyes of herparents, whose confidence in their daughter's integrity was such asentirely to exonerate her in their minds from any intention of coquetry.In this instance, perhaps, their regard for the young Earl himself, andtheir mutual but secret wishes might have heightened their belief, thatnot only was St. Eval attracted but that Caroline encouraged him, andfeeling this they regretted that Lord Alphingham should continue hisattentions, which Caroline never appeared to receive with any particularpleasure.

Anxious as had been Mrs. Hamilton's feelings with regard to thefriendship subsisting between her daughter and Annie Grahame, she littleimagined how painfully the influence of the latter had already tarnishedthe character of the former. Few are aware of the danger arising fromthose very intimate connections which young women are so fond offorming. Every mother should study, almost as carefully as those of herown, the character of her children's intimate friends. Mrs. Hamilton haddone so, and as we know, never approved of Caroline's intimacy withAnnie, but yet she could not check their intercourse while such intimatefriendship existed between her husband and Montrose Grahame. She knew,too, that the latter felt pleasure in beholding Caroline the chosenfriend of his daughter; and though she could never hope as Grahame did,that the influence of her child would improve the character of his, shehad yet sufficient confidence in Caroline at one time to believe thatshe would still consider her mother her dearest and truest friend, andthus counteract the effects of Annie's ill-directed eloquence. In thishope she had already found herself disappointed; but still, thoughCaroline refused her sympathy, and bestowed it, as so many other girlsdid, on a companion of her own age, she relied perhaps too fondly onthose principles she had so carefully instilled in early life, andbelieved that no stain would sully the career of her much-loved child.If Mrs. Hamilton's affection in this instance completely blinded her, ifshe acted too weakly in not at once breaking this closely woven chain ofintimacy, her feelings, when she knew all, were more than sufficientchastisement. Could the noble, the honourable, the truth-loving motherfor one instant imagine that Caroline, the child whose early years hadcaused her so much pain, had called forth so many tearful prayers--thechild whose dawning youth had been so fair, that her heart had nearlylost its tremblings--that her Caroline should encourage one young manmerely to indulge in love of power, and what was even worse, to thusconceal her regard for another? Yet it was even so. Caroline reallybelieved that not only was she an object of passionate love to theViscount, but that she returned the sentiment with equal if notheightened warmth, and, as the undeniable token of true love, she nevermentioned his name except to her confidant. In the first of theseconjectures she was undoubtedly right; as sincerely as a man of hischaracter could, Lord Alphingham did love Miss Hamilton, and thefascination of his manner, his insinuating eloquence, and ever readyflattery, all combined, might well cause this novice in such matters tobelieve her heart was really touched; but that it truly was so not onlymay we be allowed to doubt, but it appeared that Annie did so also, byher laborious efforts to fan the newly ignited spark into a name, andnever once permit Caroline to look into herself; and she took so manyopportunities of speaking of those silly, weak-spirited girls, that wentwith a tale of love directly to their mothers, and thus very frequentlyblighted their hopes and condemned them to broken hearts, by theirduennas' caprices, that Caroline shrunk from the faintest wish toconfide all to her mother, with a sensation amounting almost to fear andhorror. Eminently handsome and accomplished as Lord Alphingham was,still there was somewhat in his features, or rather their expression,that did not please, and scarcely satisfied Mrs. Hamilton's penetration.Intimate as he was with Grahame, friendly as he had become with herhusband, she could not overcome the feeling of repugance with which shemore than once found herself unconsciously regarding him; and she feltpleased that Mr. Hamilton steadily adhered to his resolution in notinviting him to his house. To have described what she disliked in himwould have been impossible, it was indefinable; but there was a casualglance of that dark eye, a curl of that handsome mouth, a momentaryknitting of the brow, that whispered of a mind not inwardly at peace;that restless passions had found their dwelling-place around his heart.Mrs. Hamilton only saw him in society: it was uncharitable perhaps tojudge him thus; but the feelings of a mother had rendered her thusacute, had endowed her with a penetration unusually perceptive, and sherejoiced that Caroline gave him only the meed of politeness, and that nosign of encouragement was displayed in her manner towards him.

That mother's fears were not unfounded. Lord Alphingham loved Caroline,but the love of a libertine is not true affection, and such a characterfor the last fourteen years of his life he had been; nine years of thattime he had lived on the Continent, gay, and courted, in whatevercountry he resided, winning many a youthful heart to bid it break, orlure it on to ruin. It was only the last year he had returned toEngland, and as he had generally assumed different names in the variousparts of the Continent he had visited, the adventures of his life wereunknown in the land of his birth, save that they were sometimeswhispered by a few in similar coteries, and then more as conjecture thanreality. So long a time had elapsed, that the wild errors of his youth,which had been perhaps the original cause of his leaving England, wereentirely forgotten, as if such things had never been, and the Viscountnow found himself quite as much, if not more, an object of universalattraction in his native land than he had been on the Continent. He wasnow about thirty, and perfect indeed in his vocation. The freshness,_naivete_, and perfect innocence of Caroline had captivated his fancyperhaps even more than it had ever been before, and her perfectignorance of the ways of the fashionable world encouraged him to hopehis conquest of her heart would be very easy. He had found an ableconfidant and advocate in Miss Grahame, who had contrived to placeherself with her father's friend on the footing of most friendlyintimacy, and partly by her advice and the suggestions of his own hearthe determined to win the regard of Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, before heopenly paid attentions to their daughter. With the former he appearedvery likely to succeed, for the talent he displayed in the House, hisapparently earnest zeal for the welfare of his country, her church andstate, his masterly eloquence, and the interest he felt for Grahame,were all qualities attractive in the eyes of Mr. Hamilton; and though hedid not yet invite him to his house, he never met him without evincingpleasure. With Mrs. Hamilton, Alphingham did not find himself so much atease, nor fancy he was so secure; courteous she was indeed, but in herintercourse with him she had unconsciously recalled much of what Grahametermed the forbidding reserve of years past. In vain he attempted withher to pass the barriers of universal politeness, and become intimate;his every advance was repelled coldly, yet not so devoid of courtesy asto make him suspect she had penetrated his secret character. Still hepersevered in unwavering and marked politeness, although Annie'srepresentations of Mrs. Hamilton's character had already caused him todetermine in his own mind to make Caroline his wife, with or without hermother's approval; and he amused himself with believing that, as hermother was so strict and stern as to keep her children, particularlyCaroline, in such subjection, it would be doing the poor girl a charityto release her from such thraldom, and introduce her, as his wife, intoscenes far more congenial to her taste, where she would be free fromsuch keen _surveillance_. In these thoughts he was ably seconded byAnnie, who was constantly pitying Caroline's enslaved situation, andcondemning Mrs. Hamilton's strict severity, declaring it was allaffectation; she was not a degree better than any one else, who did notmake half the fuss about it. Lord Alphingham's resolution was taken,that before the present season was over, Caroline should be engaged tohim, _nolens volens_ on the part of her parents, and he actedaccordingly.

As opposite as were the characters, so was the conduct of Caroline's twonoble suitors. St. Eval, spite of the encouragement he received, yetshrunk from paying any marked attention either to Caroline or herparents. It was by degrees he became intimate in their family, butthere, perhaps, the only person with whom he felt entirely at ease wasEmmeline, who, rejoicing at Caroline's change of manner, began to hopeher feelings were changing too, and indulged in hopes that one day LordSt. Eval might really be her brother. Emmeline knew her sister's opinionof coquetry was very different to hers; but this simple-minded girlcould never have conceived that scheme of duplicity, which, by the aidand counsel of Annie, Caroline now practised. She scarcely ever sawAlphingham, and never hearing her sister name him, and being perfectlyunconscious of his attentions when they met, she could not, even in herunusually acute imagination, believe him St. Eval's rival. More and moreenamoured the young Earl became each time he felt himself an especialobject of Caroline's notice; his heart throbbed and his hopes grewstronger, still he breathed not one word of love, he dared not.Diffident of his own attractive qualities, he feared to speak, till hethought he could be assured of her affections. In the intoxication oflove, he felt her refusal would have more effect upon him than he couldbear. He shrunk from the remarks of the world, and waited yet a littlelonger, ere with a trembling heart he should ask that all-importantquestion. So matters stood in Mr. Hamilton's family during the greaterpart of the London season; but as it is not our task to enter intoCaroline's gaieties, we here may be permitted to mention Mrs. Greville'sdeparture with her delicate and suffering child from the land of theirbirth.

Mr. Greville had made no opposition to their intended plan. SeriouslyMr. Maitland had told him that the life of his child depended on herresidence for some time abroad, in a genial climate and extreme quiet;but in vain did Mrs. Greville endeavour to believe that affection forhis daughter and herself occasioned this unwonted acquiescence; it wastoo clearly to be perceived that he was pleased at their separation fromhimself, for it gave him more liberty. She wrote to her son, imploringhim in the most earnest and affectionate manner to return home for theEaster vacation, that she might see him for a few days before she leftEngland--perhaps never to return. Ruined from earliest boyhood by weakindulgence, Alfred Greville felt sometimes a throb of natural feelingfor his mother, though her counsels were of no avail. Touched by themournful solemnity and deep affection breathing in every line, hecomplied with her request, and spent four or five days peacefully athome. He appeared shocked at the alteration he found in his sister, andwas kinder than he had previously been in his manner towards her. He hadlately become heir to a fortune and estate, left him by a very old anddistant relative of his father, and it was from this he had determined,he told his father, to go to Cambridge and cut a dash there with thebest of them. He was now eighteen, and believed himself noinconsiderable personage, in which belief he was warmly encouraged byhis mistaken father. It was strange that, with such an income, hepermitted the favourite residence of his mother and sister to besold--but so it was. The generous feelings of his early childhood hadbeen completely blunted, and to himself alone he intended to appropriatethat fortune, when a portion would yet have removed many of Mrs.Greville's anxious fears for the future. Alfred intended, when he was ofage, to be one of the first men of fashion; but he did not consider,that if he "cut a dash" at college, with the _eclat_ he wished, thatbefore three years had passed, he would not be much richer than he hadbeen when the fortune was first left him.

"Mother, you will drive me from you," he one day exclaimed, in passion,as she endeavoured to detain him. "If you wish ever to see me, let metake my own way. Advice I will not brook, and reproach I will not bear;if you love me, be silent, for I will not be governed."

"Alfred, I will speak!" replied his almost agonized parent, urged on byan irresistible impulse. "Child of my love, my prayers! Alfred, I willnot see you go wrong, without one effort, one struggle to guide you inthe right path. Alfred, I leave England--my heart is bursting; forMary's sake alone I live, and if she be taken from me, Alfred, we shallnever meet again. My son, oh, if you ever loved me, listen to me now,they may be the last words you will ever hear from your mother's lips. Iimplore, I beseech you to turn from your evil courses, Alfred!" and shesuddenly sunk at his feet, the mother before the son. So devoted, sofervid was the love with which she regarded him, that had she been told,that to lure him to virtue her own life must be the forfeit, willinglyat that moment would she have died. She continued with an eloquence ofsuch beseeching tenderness, it would have seemed none could have heardit unmoved. "Alfred, your mother kneels to you, your own mother. Oh,hear her; do not condemn her to wretchedness. Let me not suffer more.You have sought temptation; oh, fly from it; seek the companionship ofthose who will lead you to honour, not to vice. Break from thoseconnections you have weaved around you. Turn again to the God you havedeserted. Oh, do not live as you have done; think on the responsibilityeach year increases. My child, my beloved, in mercy refuse not yourmother's prayer! reject not my advice, Alfred! Alfred!" and she clung tohim, while her voice became hoarse with intense anguish. "Oh, promise meto turn from your present life. Promise me to think on my words, toseek the footstool of mercy, and return again to Him who has notforsaken you. Promise me to live a better life; say you will be yourmother's comfort, not her misery--her blessing, not her curse. My child,my child, be merciful!" Longer, more imploring still would she havepleaded, but voice failed, and it was only on those chiselled featuresthe agony of the soul could have been discovered. Alfred gazed on herthus kneeling at his feet--his mother, she, who in his infancy had kneltbeside him, to guide on high his childish prayers. The heart of themisguided boy was softened, tears filled his eyes. He would have spoken;he would have pledged himself to do all that she had asked, whensuddenly the ridicule of his companions flashed before his fancy. Couldhe bear that? No; he could see his mother at his feet, but he could notmeet the ridicule of the world. He raised her hastily, but in perfectsilence; pressed her to his heart, kissed her cheek repeatedly, thenplaced her on a couch, and darted from her presence. He had said noword, he had given no sign; and for several hours that mother could notovercome internal wretchedness so far even as to join her Mary. Hereturned to Cambridge. They parted in affection; seldom had the recklessboy evinced so much emotion as he did when he bade farewell to hismother and sister. He folded Mary to his bosom, and implored her, in avoice almost inaudible, to take care of her own health for the sake oftheir mother; but when she entreated him to come and see them in theirnew abode as soon as he could, he answered not. Yet that emotion hadleft a balm on the torn heart of his mother. She fancied her son,wayward as he was, yet loved her; and though she dared not look forwardto his reformation, still, to feel he loved her--oh, if fresh zeal wererequired in her prayers, that knowledge gave it.

The first week in May they left Greville Manor. Still weak andsuffering, the struggle to conceal and subdue all she felt at leaving,as she thought for ever, the house of her infancy, of her girlhood, heryouth, was almost too much for poor Mary; and her mother more than oncebelieved she would not reach in life the land they were about to seek.The sea breezes, for they travelled whenever they could along the shore,in a degree nerved her; and by the time they reached Dover, ten daysafter they had left the Manor, she had rallied sufficiently to ease thesorrowing heart of her mother of a portion of its burden.

They arrived at Dover late in the evening, and early the following day,as Mary sat by the large window of the hotel, watching with someappearance of interest the bustling scene before her, a travellingcarriage passed rapidly by and stopped at the entrance. She knew thelivery, and her heart throbbed almost to suffocation, as it whisperedthat Mr. Hamilton would not come alone.

"Mother, Mr. Hamilton has arrived," she succeeded at length in saying."And Emmeline--is it, can it be?" But she had no more time to wonder,for ere she had recovered the agitation the sight of one other of Mr.Hamilton's family had occasioned, they were in the room, and Emmelinespringing forward, had flung herself on Mary's neck; and utterly unableto control her feelings at the change she beheld in her friend, weptpassionately on her shoulder. Powerfully agitated, Mary felt herstrength was failing, and had it not been for Mr. Hamilton's support,she would have fallen to the ground. He supported her with a father'stenderness to the couch, and reproachfully demanded of Emmeline if shehad entirely forgotten her promise of composure.

"Do not reprove her, my dear friend," said Mrs. Greville, as she drewthe weeping girl affectionately to her. "My poor Mary is so quicklyagitated now, that the pleasure of seeing three instead of one of ourdear-valued friends has been sufficient of itself to produce thisagitation. And you, too, Herbert," she continued, extending her hand tothe young man, who hastily raised it to his lips, as if to conceal anemotion which had paled his cheek, almost as a kindred feeling had donewith Mary's. "Have you deserted your favourite pursuits, and left Oxfordat such a busy time, merely to see us before we leave? This is kind,indeed."

"I left Percy to work for me," answered Herbert, endeavouring to hideemotion under the veil of gaiety. "As to permit you to leave Englandwithout once more seeing you, and having one more smile from Mary, Iwould not, even had the whole honour of my college been at stake. Youmust not imagine me so entirely devoted to my hooks, dear Mrs. Greville,as to believe I possess neither time nor inclination for the gentlerfeelings of human nature."

"I know you too well, and have known you too long, to imagine that,"replied Mrs. Greville, earnestly. "And is Mary so completely to engrossyour attention, Emmeline," she added, turning towards the couch wherethe friends sat, "that I am not to hear a word of your dear mother,Caroline, or Ellen? Indeed, I cannot allow that."

The remark quickly produced a general conversation, and Herbert for thefirst time addressed Mary. A strange, unconquerable emotion had chainedhis tongue as he beheld her; but now, with eager yet respectfultenderness, he inquired after her health, and how she had borne theirlong journey, and other questions, trifling in themselves, but utteredin a tone that thrilled the young heart of her he addressed.

Herbert knew not how intimately the image of Mary Greville had mingledwith his most secret thoughts, even in his moments of grave study andearnest application, until he heard she was about to leave England.Sorrow, disappointment, scarcely defined but bitterly painful, thenoccupied his mind, and the knowledge burst with dazzling clearness onhis heart that he loved her; so deeply, so devotedly, that even wereevery other wish fulfilled, life, without her, would be a blank. He haddeemed himself so lifted above all earthly feelings, that even were heto be deprived as Mr. Morton of every natural relation, he could in timereconcile himself to the will of his Maker, and in the discharge ofministerial duties be happy. He had fancied his heart was full of thelove of God alone, blessed in that, however changed his earthly lot.Suddenly he was awakened from his illusion: now in the hour ofseparation he knew an earthly idol; he discovered that he was not socompletely the servant of his Maker as he had hoped, and sometimesbelieved. But in the doubts and fears which shadowed his exalted mind,he sought the footstool of his God. His cry for assistance was notunheeded. Peace and comfort rested on his heart. A cloud was liftedfrom his eyes, and for the knowledge of his virtuous love he blessed hisGod; feeling thus supported he could guide and control himself accordingto the dictates of piety. He knew well the character of Mary; he feltassured that, if in after years he were permitted to make her his own,she would indeed become his helpmate in all things, more particularly inthose which related to his God and to his holy duties among men. Hethought on the sympathy that existed between them--he remembered thelighting up of that soft, dark eye, the flushing cheek, the smile ofpleasure that ever welcomed him, and fondly his heart whispered that heneed not doubt her love. Three years, or nearly four must elapse ere hecould feel at liberty to marry; not till he beheld himself a minister ofGod. Yet interminable as to his imagination the intervening yearsappeared, still there was no trembling in his trusting heart. If hisFather on high ordained them for each other, it mattered not how longthe time that must elapse, and if for some wise purpose his wishes weredelayed, he recognised the hand of God, and saw "that it was good."

Yet Herbert could not resist the impulse to behold Mary once more ereshe quitted England to explain to her his feelings; to understand eachother. He knew the day his father intended going to Dover, and theevening previous, much to the astonishment of his family, made hisappearance amongst them. All expressed pleasure at his intention butone, and that one understood not why; but when she heard the cause ofhis unexpected visit, a sudden and indefinable pang shot through heryoung heart, dimming at once the joy with which the sight of him hadfilled it. She knew not, guessed not why, when she laid her head on herpillow that night, she wept so bitterly. The source of those secret andsilent tears she could not trace, she only knew their cause was one ofsorrow, and yet she loved Mary.

The pleading earnestness of Emmeline had, after some little difficulty,obtained the consent of her mother to her accompanying her father andbrother, on condition, however, of her not agitating Mary by anyunconstrained display of sorrow. It was only at their first meeting thiscondition had been forgotten. Mary looked so pale, so thin, so differenteven to when they parted, that the warm heart of Emmeline could not berestrained, for she knew, however resignation might be, nay, was felt,it was a bitter pang to that gentle girl to leave her native land, andthe friends she so much loved; but recalling her promise, with a strongeffort she checked her own sorrow, and endeavoured with playful fondnessto raise the spirits of her friend.

The day passed cheerfully, the young people took a drive for some fewmiles in the vicinity of Dover, while Mr. Hamilton, acting the part of abrother to the favourite _protegee_ of his much-loved mother, listenedto her plans, counselled and improved them, and, indeed, on many pointsproved himself such a true friend, that when Mrs. Greville retired torest that night, she felt more at ease in mind than for many months shehad been.

The following day was employed in seeing the antiquities of Dover, itsancient castle among the first, and with Mr. Hamilton as a cicerone, itwas a day of pleasure to all, though, perhaps, a degree of melancholymight have pervaded the party in the evening, for the recollection wouldcome, that by noon on the morrow, Mrs. Greville and Mary would bid themfarewell. In vain during that day had Herbert sought for an opportunityto speak with Mary on the subject nearest his heart, though they hadbeen so happy together; when for a few minutes they found themselvesalone, he had fancied there was more than usual reserve in Mary'smanner, which checked the words upon his lip. Some hours he lay awakethat night. Should he write his hopes and wishes? No: he would hear theanswer from her own lips, and the next morning an opportunity appearedto present itself.

The vessel did not leave Dover till an hour before noon, and breakfasthaving been despatched by half-past nine, Mrs. Greville persuaded herdaughter to take a gentle walk in the intervening time. Herbertinstantly offered to escort her. Emmeline remained to assist Mrs.Greville in some travelling arrangements, and Mr. Hamilton employedhimself in some of those numberless little offices which active men takeupon themselves in the business of a departure. Mary shrunk with suchevident reluctance from this arrangement, that for the first timeHerbert doubted.

"You were not wont to shrink thus from accepting me as your companion,"he said, fixing his large expressive eyes mournfully upon her, andspeaking in a tone of such melancholy sweetness, that Mary hastilystruggled to conceal the tear that started to her eye. "Are our happydays of childhood indeed thus forgotten?" he continued, gently. "Go withme, dear Mary; let us in fancy transport ourselves at least for onehour back to those happy years of early life which will not come again."

The thoughts, the hopes, the joys of her childhood flashed with suddenpower through the heart of Mary as he spoke, and she resisted them not.

"Forgive me, Herbert," she said, hastily rising to prepare; "I havebecome a strange and wayward being the last few months; you must bearwith me, for the sake of former days."

Playfully he granted the desired forgiveness, and they departed on theirwalk. For some little time they walked in silence. Before they wereaware of it, a gentle ascent conducted them to a spot, not only lovelyin its own richness, but in the extensive view that stretched beneaththem. The wide ocean lay slumbering at their feet; the brilliant rays ofthe sun, which it reflected as a mirror, appeared to lull it to rest,the very waves broke softly on the shore. To the left extended thesnow-white cliffs, throwing in shadow part of the ocean, and bringingforward their own illumined walls in bold relief against the dark bluesea. Ships of every size, from the floating castle in the offing to thetiny pleasure boat, whose white sails shining in the sun caused her tobe distinguished at some distance, skimming along the ocean as a bird ofsnowy plumage across the heavens, the merchant vessels, the packetsentering and departing, even the blackened colliers, added interest tothe scene; for at the distance Herbert and Mary stood, no confusion washeard to disturb the moving picture. On their right the beautifulcountry peculiar to Kent spread out before them in graceful undulationsof hill and valley, hop-ground and meadow, wherein the sweet fragranceof the newly-mown grass was wafted at intervals to the spot where theystood. Wild flowers of various kinds were around them; the hawthornappearing like a tree of snow in the centre of a dark green hedge; themodest primrose and the hidden violet yet lingered, as if loth todepart, though their brethren of the summer had already put forth theirbudding blossoms. A newly-severed trunk of an aged tree invited them tosit and rest, and the most tasteful art could not have placed a rusticseat in a more lovely scene.

Long and painfully did Mary gaze around her, as if she would engravewithin her heart every scene of the land she was so soon to leave.

"Herbert," she said, at length, "I never wished to gaze on futuritybefore, but now, oh, I would give much to know if indeed I shall evergaze on these scenes again. Could I but think I might return to them,the pang of leaving would lose one half its bitterness. I know this is aweak and perhaps sinful feeling; but in vain I have lately striven tobow resignedly to my Maker's will, even should His call meet me, as Isometimes fear it will, in a foreign land, apart from all, save one,whom I love on earth."

"Do not, do not think so, dearest Mary. True, indeed, there is noparting without its fears, even for a week, a day, an hour. Death everhovers near us, to descend when least expected. But oh, for my sake,Mary, dear Mary, talk not of dying in a foreign land. God's will isbest, His decree is love; I know, I feel it, and on this subject fromour infancy we have felt alike; to you alone have I felt that I daredbreathe the holy aspirations sometimes my own. I am not wont to besanguine, but somewhat whispers within me you will return--these scenesbehold again."

Mary gazed on her young companion, he had spoken with unwontedanimation, and his mild eye rested with trusting fondness upon her; shedared not meet it; her pale cheek suddenly became crimson, but with aneffort she replied--

"Buoy me not up with vain hopes, Herbert; it is better, perhaps, that Ishould never look to my return, for hope might descend to vain wishes,and wishes to repinings, which must not be. I shall look on other scenesof loveliness, and though in them perhaps no fond association of earthmay be mingled, yet there is one of which no change of country candeprive me, one association that from scenes as these can never neverfly. The friends of my youth will be no longer near me, strangers alonewill surround me; but even as the hand of my Heavenly Father is markedin every scene, however far apart, so is that hand, that love extendedto me wherever I may dwell. Oh, that my heart may indeed be filled withthe love of Him."

There was a brief silence. The countenance of Herbert had been for amoment troubled, but after a few seconds resumed its serenity,heightened by the fervid feelings of his heart.

"Mary," he said, taking her passive hand in his, "if I am too bold inspeaking all I wish, forgive me. You know not how I have longed for onemoment of unchecked confidence before you left England, it is now beforeme, and, oh, listen to me, dearest Mary, with that kindness you haveever shown. I need not remind you of our days of childhood and earlyyouth; I need not recall the mutual sympathy which, in every feeling,hope, joy, or sorrow, has been our own. We have grown together, playedtogether in infancy; read, thought, and often in secret prayed togetherin youth. To you I have ever imparted my heartfelt wishes, earnestprayers for my future life, to become a worthy servant of my God, andlead others in his path, and yet, frail mortal as I am, I feel, even ifthese wishes are fulfilled, there will yet, dearest Mary, remain a voidwithin my heart. May I, may I, indeed, behold in the playmate of myinfancy a friend in manhood, the partner of my life--my own Mary as myassistant in labours of love? I am agitating you, dearest girl, forgiveme; only give me some little hope. Years must elapse ere that blessedmoment can arrive, perhaps I have been wrong to urge it now, but I couldnot part from you without one word to explain my feelings, to imploreyour ever-granted sympathy."

The hand of Mary trembled in his grasp. She had turned from his pleadingglance, but when he ceased, she raised her head and struggled to speak.A smile, beautiful, holy in its beauty, appeared struggling with tears,and a faint flush had risen to her cheek, but voice she had none, andfor one moment she concealed her face on his shoulder. She withdrew nother hand from his, and Herbert felt--oh, how gratefully--that his lovewas returned; he had not hoped in vain. For some minutes they could notspeak, every feeling was in common; together they had grown, togetherloved, and now that the magic word had been spoken, what need was therefor reserve? none; and reserve was banished. No darkening clouds werethen perceived; at that moment Mary thought not of her father, and ifshe did, could she believe that his consent to an union with a son ofMr. Hamilton would be difficult to obtain. Marry they could not yet, andperhaps the unalloyed bliss of that hour might have originated in thefact that they thought only of the present--the blessed knowledge thatthey loved each other, were mutually beloved.

The happiness glowing on Mary's expressive countenance as she enteredcould not fail to attract the watchful eye of her mother, and almostunconsciously, and certainly indefinably, her own bosom reflected thepleasure of her child, and the pang of quitting England was partiallyeased of its bitterness. Yet still it was a sorrowful moment when thetime of separation actually came. Their friends had gone on board withthem, and remained till the signal for departure was given. Mary hadpreferred the cabin to the confusion on deck, and there her friends lefther. In the sorrow of that moment Emmeline's promise of composure wasagain forgotten; she clung weeping to Mary's neck, till her father, withgentle persuasion, drew her away, and almost carried her on deck.Herbert yet lingered; they were alone in the cabin, the confusionattendant on a departure preventing all fear of intruders. He claspedMary to his heart, in one long passionate embrace, then hastily placingthe trembling girl in the arms of her mother, he murmured almostinaudibly--

"Mrs. Greville, dearest Mrs. Greville, guard, oh, guard her for me, shewill be mine; she will return to bless me, when I may claim and cancherish her as my wife. Talk to her of me; let not the name of Herbertbe prohibited between you. I must not stay, yet one word more, Mrs.Greville--say, oh, say you will not refuse me as your son, if threeyears hence Mary will still be mine. Say your blessing will hallow ourunion; and oh, I feel it will then indeed be blessed!"

Overpowered with sudden surprise and unexpected joy, Mrs. Greville gazedfor a moment speechlessly on the noble youth before her, and vainly themother struggled to speak at this confirmation of her long-cherishedhopes and wishes.

"Mother," murmured Mary, alarmed at her silence, and burying her face inher bosom, "mother, will you not speak, will you not bid us hope?"

"God in Heaven bless you, my children!" she at length exclaimed,bursting into tears of heartfelt gratitude and joy. "It was joy, joy,"she repeated, struggling for composure; "I expected not this blessing.Yes, Herbert, we will speak of you, think of you, doubt us not, my son,my dear son. A mother's protecting care and soothing love will guardyour Mary. She is not only her mother's treasure now. Go, my belovedHerbert, you are summoned; farewell, and God bless you!"

Herbert did not linger with his father and sister; a few minutes privateinterview with the former caused his most sanguine hopes to become yetstronger, then travelling post to London, where he only remained a fewhours, returned with all haste to his college. In his rapid journey,however, he had changed his mind with regard to keeping what had passedbetween himself and Mary a secret from his mother, whom he yet lovedwith perhaps even more confiding fondness than in his boyhood. He sawher alone; imparted to her briefly but earnestly all that had passed,implored her to promise consent, and preserve his confidence even fromhis brothers and sisters; as so long a time must elapse ere they couldindeed be united, that he dreaded their engagement being known.

"Even the good wishes of the dear members of home," he said, "wouldsound, I fear, but harshly on my ear. I cannot define why I do not wishit known even to those I love; yet, dearest mother, indulge me. Theevents of one day are hidden from us; how dark then must be those ofthree years. No plighted promise has passed between us; it is but theconfidence of mutual love; and that--oh, mother, I could not bear ittorn from the recesses of my own breast to be a subject of conversationeven to those dearest to me."

His mother looked on the glowing countenance of her son; on him, whofrom, his birth had never by his conduct given her one single moment ofcare, and had she even disapproved of his secrecy, all he asked wouldhave been granted him; but she approved of his resolution, and emotionglistened in her eye, as she said--

"My Herbert, if I had been privileged to select one among my youngfriends to be your wife, my choice would have fallen, without onemoment's hesitation, on Mary Greville. She, amid them all, I deem mostworthy to be the partner of my son. May Heaven in mercy spare you toeach other!"

Herbert returned to college, and resumed his studies with even greaterearnestness than, before. His unrestrained confidence had been as balmto his mother's heart, and soothed the bitter pain it was to behold, tofeel assured, for it was no longer fancy, that the confidence ofCaroline was indeed utterly denied her and bestowed upon another. Yetstill Mrs. Hamilton fancied Caroline loved St. Eval; her eyes had notyet been opened to the enormity of her daughter's conduct. Nor were theytill, after a long struggle of fervid love with the tremblings naturalto a fond but reserved and lowly heart, St. Eval summoned courage tooffer hand, heart, and fortune to the girl he loved (he might well bepardoned for the belief that she loved him), and was rejected, coldly,decidedly.

The young Earl had received the glad sanction of Mr. Hamilton to makehis proposals to his daughter. There had never been, nor was there now,anything to damp his hopes. He was not, could not be deceived in thebelief that Caroline accepted, nay, demanded, encouraged his attention.Invariably kind, almost fascinating in her manner, she had ever singledhim out from the midst of many much gayer and more attractive young men.She had given him somewhat more to love each time they parted; and whatcould this mean, but that she cared for him more than for others? Againand again St. Eval pondered on the encouragement he could not doubt butthat he received; again and again demanded of himself if he were notplaying with her feelings thus to defer his proposals. Surely she lovedhim. The sanction of her parents had heightened his hopes, and love andconfidence in the truth, the purity of his beloved one obtained so muchascendancy over his heart, that when the important words were said, hehad almost ceased to fear. How bitter, how agonizing then must have beenhis disappointment when he was refused--when sudden haughtiness beamedon Caroline's noble brow, and coldness spread over every feature. Andyet, could he doubt it? No; triumph was glittering in her sparkling eye;in vain he looked for sympathy in his disappointment, if love weredenied him. He gazed on her, and the truth suddenly flashed on his mind;he marked the triumph with which she heard his offer; no softeningemotion was in her countenance. In vain he tried to ascribe itsexpression to some other feeling; it was triumph, he could not bedeceived; and with agony St. Eval discovered that the being he hadalmost worshipped was not the faultless creature he had believed her;she had played with his feelings; she had encouraged him, heightened hislove, merely to afford herself amusement. The visions of hope, of fancywere rudely dispelled, and perhaps at that moment it was better for hispeace that he suddenly felt she was beneath his love; she was not worthyto be his wife. He no longer esteemed; and if love itself were notutterly snapped asunder, the loss of esteem enabled him to act in thatinterview with pride approaching to her own. He reproached her not: noword did he utter that could prove how deeply he was wounded, and thusadd to the triumph so plain to be perceived. That she had sunk in hisestimation she might have seen, but other feelings prevented herdiscovering how deeply. Had she veiled her manner more, had she rejectedhim with kindness, St. Eval might still have loved, and imagined thatfriendship and esteem had actuated her conduct towards him. Yet thosehaughty features expelled this thought as soon as it arose. It was onthe night of a gay assembly St. Eval had found an opportunity to speakwith Caroline, and when both rejoined the gay crowd no emotion wasdiscernible in the countenance of either. St. Eval was the same to allas usual. No one who might have heard his eloquent discussion on somestate affairs with the Russian consul could have imagined how painfullyacute were his sufferings; it was not only disappointed love--no, hiswas aggravated bitterness; he could no longer esteem the object of hislove, he had found himself deceived, cruelly deceived, in one he hadlooked on almost as faultless; and where is the pang that can equal onelike this? The heightened colour on Caroline's cheek, the increasedbrilliancy of her eye, attracted the admiration of all around her, thetriumph of power had indeed been achieved. But when she laid her head onher pillow, when the silence and darkness of night brought the past toher mind more vividly, in vain she sought forgetfulness in sleep. Was ithappiness, triumph, that bade her bury her face in her hands and weep,weep till almost every limb became convulsed by her overpoweringemotion? Her thoughts were undefined, but so painful, that she wasglad--how glad when morning came. She compared her present with herformer self, and the contrast was misery; but even as her ill-fated aunthad done, she summoned pride to stifle every feeding of remorse.

Mr. Hamilton had given his sanction to the addresses of Lord St. Eval tohis daughter; but he knew not when, the young man intended to place theseal upon his fate. Great then was his astonishment, the morningfollowing the evening we have mentioned, when St. Eval called to bid himfarewell, as he intended, he said, leaving London that afternoon for hisfather's seat, where he should remain perhaps a week, and then quitEngland for the Continent. He spoke calmly, but there was a paleness ofthe cheek, a dimness of the eye, that told a tale of inwardwretchedness, which the regard of Mr. Hamilton could not fail instantlyto discover. Deeply had he become interested in the young man, and thequick instinct combined with the fears of a father, told him that theconduct of Caroline had caused this change. He looked at the expressivecountenance of the young Earl for a few minutes, then placing his handon his shoulder, said kindly, but impressively--

"St. Eval, you are changed, as well as your plans. You are unhappy. Whathas happened? Have your too sensitive feelings caused you to fancyCaroline unkind?"

"Would to heaven it were only fancy!" replied St. Eval, with unwontedemotion, and almost convulsively clenching both hands as if forcalmness, added more composedly, "I have been too presumptuous in myhopes; I fancied myself beloved by your beautiful daughter, but I havefound myself painfully mistaken."

Sternness gathered on the brow of the father as he heard, and heanswered, with painful emphasis--

"St. Eval, deceive me not, I charge you. In what position do you nowstand with Caroline?"

"Briefly, then, if I must speak, in the humble character of a rejected,scornfully rejected lover." His feelings carried him beyond control. Thetriumph he had seen glittering so brightly in the eyes of Caroline hadfor the time turned every emotion into gall. He shrunk from the agony itwas to find he was deceived in one whom he had believed so perfect.

"Scorn! has a daughter of mine acted thus? Encourage, and then scorn.St. Eval, for pity's sake, tell me! you are jesting; it is not ofCaroline you speak." So spoke the now agonized father, for every hope ofhis child's singleness of mind and purity of intention appeared at onceblighted. He grasped St. Eval's hand, and looked on him with eyes fromwhich, in the deep disappointment of his heart, all sternness had fled.

"I grieve to cause you pain, my dear friend," replied the young Earl,entering at once into the father's feelings, "but it is even so. Yourdaughter has only acted as many, nay, as the majority of her sex arefond of doing. It appears that you, too, have marked what might betermed the encouragement she gave me. My self-love is soothed, for Imight otherwise have deemed my hopes were built on the unstablefoundation of folly and presumption."

"And condemnation of my child is the fruit of your self-acquittal, St.Eval, is it not? You despise her now as much as you have loved her," andMr. Hamilton paced the room with agitation.

"Would almost that I could!" exclaimed St. Eval; the young Earl thenadded, despondingly, "no, I deny not that your child has sunk in myestimation; I believed her exalted far above the majority of her sex;that she, apparently all softness and truth, was incapable of playingwith the most sacred feelings of a fellow-creature. I looked on her asfaultless; and though the veil has fallen from my eyes, it tells me thatif in Caroline Hamilton I am deceived, it is useless to look forperfection upon earth. Yet I cannot tear her image from my heart. Shehas planted misery there which I cannot at present overcome; but if thattriumph yields her pleasure, and tends to her happiness, be it so; myfarther attention shall no longer annoy her."

Much disturbed, Mr. Hamilton continued to pace the room, then hastilyapproaching the young Earl, he said, hurriedly--

"Forget her, St. Eval, forget her; rest not till you have regained yourpeace. My disappointment, that of her mother--our long-cherished hopes,but it is useless to speak of them, to bring them forward, bitter asthey are, in comparison with yours. Forget her, St. Eval; she isunworthy of you," and he wrung his hand again and again, as if in thatpressure he could conquer and conceal his feelings. At that instantEmmeline bounded joyfully into the room, unconscious that any one waswith her father, and only longing to tell him the delightful news thatshe had received a long, long letter from Mary, telling her of theirsafe arrival at Geneva, at which place Mrs. Greville intended to remainfor a few weeks, before she proceeded more southward.

"Look, dear papa, is not this worth receiving?" she exclaimed, holdingup the well-filled letter, and looking the personification of innocentand radiant happiness, her fair luxuriant hair pushed in disorder fromher open forehead and flushed cheek, her blue eyes sparkling withirresistible glee, which was greatly heightened by her glowing smiles.It was impossible to look on Emmeline without feeling every ruffledemotion suddenly calmed; she was so bright, so innocent, so fair athing, that if peace and kindness had wished to take up their abode onearth, they could not have found a fairer form wherein to dwell. As St.Eval gazed upon the animated girl, he could not help contrasting herinnocent and light-hearted pleasure with his own unmitigated sorrow.

"Your presence and your joy are mistimed, my dear Emmeline; your fatherappears engaged," said Mrs. Hamilton, entering almost directly after herchild, and perceiving by one glance at her husband's face thatsomething had chanced to disturb him. "Control these wild spirits for atime till he is able to listen to you."

"Do not check her, my dear Emmeline, I am not particularly engaged. IfSt. Eval will forgive me, I would gladly hear some news of our dearMary."

"And pray let me hear it also. You know how interested I am in this dearfriend of yours, Emmeline," replied St. Eval, struggling with himself,and succeeding sufficiently to speak playfully; for he and Emmeline hadcontrived to become such great allies and intimate friends, that by somesympathy titles of ceremony were seldom used between them, and they wereEugene and Emmeline to each other, as if they were indeed brother andsister.

Laughingly and delightedly Emmeline imparted the contents of her letter,which afforded real pleasure both to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, by the morecheerful, even happier style in which she had written.

"Now do you not think I ought to be proud of my friend, Master Eugene?is she not one worth having?" demanded Emmeline, sportively appealing tothe young Earl, as she read to her father some of Mary's affectionateexpressions and wishes in the conclusion.

"So much so, that I am seized with an uncontrollable desire to know her,and if you will only give me a letter of introduction, I will set offfor Geneva next week."

Emmeline raised her laughing eyes to his face, with an expression ofunfeigned amazement.

"A most probable circumstance," she said, laughing; "no, Lord St. Eval,you will not impose thus on my credulity. Eugene St. Eval, the mostcourted, flattered, and distinguished, leave London before the seasonis over--impossible."

"I thank you for the pretty compliments you are showering on me, mylittle fairy friend, but it is nevertheless true. I leave England forthe Continent next week, and I may as well bend my wandering steps toGeneva as elsewhere."

"But what can you possibly be going on the Continent again for? I amsure, by all the anecdotes you have told me, you must have seen all thatis worth seeing, and so why should poor England again be deserted by oneof the ablest of her sons?"

"Emmeline!" exclaimed her mother, in an accent of warning and reproach,which brought a deep crimson flush to her cheek, and caused her eyes toglisten, for Mrs. Hamilton had marked that all was not serene on thecountenance of the Earl, and her heart beat with anxious alarm; for sheknew his intentions with regard to Caroline, and all she beheld andheard, startled, almost terrified her. Lord St. Eval certainly looked alittle disturbed at Emmeline's continued questions, and perceiving it,she hesitatingly but frankly said--

"I really beg your pardon, my lord, for my unjustifiable curiosity;mamma is always reproving me for it, and certainly I deserve her lecturenow. But will you really find out Mary, and be the bearer of a smallparcel for me?"

"With the greatest pleasure; for it will give me an object, which I hadnot before, and a most pleasing one, if I may hope your friend will notobject to my intrusion."

"A friend of mine will ever be warmly welcomed by Mary," said Emmeline,with eagerness, but checking herself.

"Then may I hope you will continue to regard me as your friend, andstill speak of me as Eugene, though perhaps a year or more may passbefore you see me again?" demanded the young Earl, somewhat sadly,glancing towards Mrs. Hamilton, as if for her approval.

"As your _friend_" he repeated, laying an emphasis on the word, which toany one less innocent of the world than Emmeline, would at once haveexcited their suspicion, and which single word at once told Mrs.Hamilton that all her cherished hopes were blighted. She readconfirmation in her husband's countenance, and for a few minutes stoodbewildered.

"I leave town in a few hours for my father's seat," added St. Eval,turning to Mrs. Hamilton. "I may amuse myself by taking Devonshire in myway, or rather going out of my way for that purpose. Have you anycommands at Oakwood that I can perform?"

Mrs. Hamilton answered thankfully in the negative, but Emmelineexclaimed--

"I have a good mind to make you bearer of a letter and a _gage d'amour_to my good old nurse; she will be so delighted to hear of me, and herpostman a nobleman. Poor nurse will have food for conversation andpleasurable reflection till we return."

"Anything you like, only make me of use; and let me have it in an hour'stime, or perhaps I can give you two."

"One will be all-sufficient; but what a wonderful desire to be usefulhas seized you all in a minute," replied Emmeline, whose high spiritsappeared on that day utterly uncontrollable, and she ran on unmindful ofher mother's glance. "But if I really do this, I must bid you farewellat once, or I shall have no time. Think of me, if anything extraordinarymeets your eye, or occurs to you, and treasure it up for my information,as you know my taste for the marvellous. My letter to Mary shall beforwarded to you, for I really depend on your seeking her, and tellingher all about us; and now, then, with every wish for your pleasantjourney, I must wish you good-bye."

"Good-bye, dear, happy Emmeline," he said, with earnestness. "May you beas light-hearted and joyous, and as kind, when we meet again as now; mayI commission you with my warmest remembrances and kind adieus to yourcousin, whom I am sorry I have not chanced to see this morning?"

"They shall be duly delivered," answered Emmeline, and kissing her handgaily in adieu, she tripped lightly out of the room, and St. Evalinstantly turned towards Mrs. Hamilton.

"In this intention of leaving England for a few months, or perhaps ayear," he said, striving for calmness, but speaking in a tone ofsadness, "you will at once perceive that my cherished hopes for thefuture are blighted. I will not linger on the subject, for I cannot yetbear disappointment such as this with composure. Were I of differentmould, I might, spite of coldness and pride, continue my addresses; andwere you as other parents are, Caroline--Miss Hamilton might still bemine; a fashionable marriage it would still be, but, thank God, suchwill not be; even to bestow your child on one you might value more thanme, you would not trample on her affections, you would not consent thatshe should be an unwilling bride, and I--oh! I could not--could not wedwith one who loved me not. My dream of happiness has ended--beenpainfully dispelled; the blow was unexpected, and has found meunprepared. I leave England, lest my ungoverned feelings should lead mewrong. Mrs. Hamilton," he continued, more vehemently, "you understand mypeculiar feelings, and can well guess the tortures I am now enduring.You know why I am reserved, because I dread the outbreak of emotion evenin the most trifling circumstances. Oh, to have been your son--" hepaused abruptly, and hurriedly paced the room. "Forgive me," he said,more calmly. "Only say you approve of my resolution to seek change for ashort time, till I obtain self-government, and can behold her withoutpain; say that I am doing right for myself. I cannot think."

"You are right, quite right," replied Mrs. Hamilton instantly, and herhusband confirmed her words. "I do approve your resolution, thoughdeeply, most deeply, I regret its cause, St. Eval. Your disappointmentis most bitter, but you grieve not alone. To have given Caroline to you,to behold her your wife, would have fulfilled every fervent wish ofwhich she is the object. Not you alone have been deceived; her conducthas been such as to mislead those who have known her from childhood. St.Eval, she is not worthy of you."

Disappointed, not only at the blighting of every secret hope, not thosealone in which St. Eval was concerned, but every fond thought she hadindulged in the purity and integrity of her child, in which, though herconfidence had been given to another, she had still implicitly trusted,the most bitter disappointment and natural displeasure filled thatmother's heart, and almost for the first time since their union Mr.Hamilton could read this unwonted emotion, in one usually so gentle, inher kindling eyes and agitated voice.

"Child of my heart, my hopes, my care, as she is, I must yet speak it,forget her, Eugene; let not the thought of a deceiver, a coquette, debaryou from the possession of that peace which should ever be the portionof one so truly honourable, so wholly estimable as yourself. You aredisappointed, pained; but you know not--cannot guess the agony it is tofind the integrity in which I so fondly trusted is as naught; that mychild, my own child, whom I had hoped to lead through life without astain, is capable of such conduct."

Emotion choked her voice. She had been carried on by the violence of herfeelings, and perhaps said more in that moment of excitement than sheeither wished or intended.

St. Eval gazed on the noble woman before him with unfeigned admiration.He saw the indignation, the displeasure which she felt; it heightenedthe dignity of her character in his estimation; but he now began totremble for its effects upon her child.

"Do not, my dear Mrs. Hamilton," he said, with some hesitation, "permitMiss Hamilton's rejection of me to excite your displeasure towards her.If with me she could not be happy, she was right to refuse my hand. Letme not have the misery of feeling I have caused dissension in a familywhose beautiful unity has ever bound me to it. Surely you would not urgethe affections of your child."

"Never," replied Mrs. Hamilton, earnestly. "I understand your fears,but let them pass away. I shall urge nothing, but my duty I must do.Much as I admire the exalted sentiments you express, I must equallydeplore the mistaken conduct of my child. She has wilfully sported withthe most sacred of human feelings. Once more I say, she is not worthy tobe yours."

The indignation and strong emotion still lingering in her voiceconvinced St. Eval that he might urge no more. Respectfully he took hisleave.

CHAPTER V.

Mrs. Hamilton sat silently revolving in her mind all Caroline's lateconduct, but vainly endeavouring to discover one single good reason tojustify her rejection of St. Eval. In vain striving to believe all musthave been mistaken, she had not given him encouragement. That heraffections could have become secretly engaged was a thing so unlikely,that even when Mrs. Hamilton suggested it, both she and her husbandbanished the idea as impossible; for St. Eval alone had she evinced anymarked preference.

"You must speak to her, Emmeline, I dare not; for I feel too angry anddisappointed to argue calmly. She has deceived us; all your cares appearto have been of no avail; all the watchful tenderness with which she hadbeen treated thus returned! I could have forgiven it, I would not havesaid another word, if she had conducted herself towards him withpropriety; but to give him encouragement, such as all who have seen themtogether must have remarked; to attract him by every winning art, tochain him to her side, and then reject him with scorn. What could havecaused her conduct, but the wish to display her power, her triumph overone so superior? Well might he say she had sunk in his estimation. Whydid we not question her, instead of thus fondly trusting in herintegrity? Emmeline, we have trusted our child too confidently, and thusour reliance is rewarded."

Seldom, if ever, had Mrs. Hamilton seen her husband so disturbed; forsome little time she remained with him, and succeeded partly in soothinghis natural displeasure. She then left him to compose her own troubledand disappointed feelings ere she desired the presence of her child.Meanwhile, as the happy Emmeline went to prepare her little packet forher dear old nurse, the thought suddenly arose that St. Eval had senthis remembrances and adieus to Ellen only, he had not mentionedCaroline; and unsophisticated as she was, this struck her as somethingvery strange, and she was not long in connecting this circumstance withhis sudden departure. Wild, sportive, and innocent as Emmeline was, sheyet possessed a depth of reflection and clearness of perception, whichthose who only knew her casually might not have expected. She had markedwith extreme pleasure that which she believed the mutual attachment ofSt. Eval and her sister; and with her ready fancy ever at work, hadindulged very often in airy visions, in which she beheld CarolineCountess St. Eval, and mistress of that beautiful estate in Cornwall,which she had heard Mrs. Hamilton say had been presented by the Marquisof Malvern to his son on his twenty-first birthday. Emmeline hadindulged these fancies, and noticed the conduct of Caroline and St.Eval till she really believed their union would take place. She had beenso delighted at the receipt of Mary's letter, that she had no time toremember the young Earl's departure; but when she was alone, that truthsuddenly flashed across her mind, and another strange incident, thoughat the time she had not remarked it, when she had said as her brothershe would remember him, he had repeated, with startling emphasis, "asher _friend_." "What could it all mean?" she thought. "Caroline cannothave rejected him? No, that is quite impossible. My sister would surelynot be such a practised coquette. I must seek her and have the mysterysolved. Surely she will be sorry St. Eval leaves us so soon."

Emmeline hastened first to Ellen, begging her to pack up the littlepacket for Mrs. Langford, for she knew such an opportunity would be asacceptable to her cousin as to herself; for Ellen never forgot thehumble kindness and prompt attention she had received from the widowduring her long and tedious illness; and by little offerings, and whatthe good woman still more valued, by a few kind and playful lines, whichever accompanied them, she endeavoured to prove her sense of WidowLangford's conduct.

In five minutes more Emmeline was in her sister's room. Caroline waspartly dressed as if for a morning drive, and her attendant leaving justas her sister entered. She looked pale and more fatigued than usual,from the gaiety of the preceding night. Happy she certainly did notlook, and forgetting in that sight the indignation which the verysupposition of coquetry in her sister had excited, Emmeline gentlyapproached her, and kissing her cheek, said fondly--

"What is the matter, dear Caroline? You look ill, wearied, and evenmelancholy. Did you dance more than usual last night?"

"No," replied Caroline; "I believe not. I do not think I am more tiredthan usual. But what do you come for, Emmeline? Some reason must bringyou here, for you are generally hard at work at this time of the day."

"My wits have been so disturbed by Mary's letter, that I have beenunable to settle to anything," replied her sister, laughing; "and to addto their disturbance, I have just heard something so strange, that Icould not resist coming to tell you."

"Of what nature?"

"St. Eval leaves London to-day for Castle Malvern, and next week quitsEngland. Now is not that extraordinary?"

Caroline became suddenly flushed with crimson, which quickly receding,left her even paler than before.

"She is innocent," thought Emmeline. "She loves him. St. Eval must havebehaved ill to her; and yet he certainly looked more sinned against thansinning."

"To-day: does he leave to-day?" Caroline said, at length, speaking, itappeared, with effort, and turning to avoid her sister's glance.

"In little more than an hour's time; but I am sorry I told you, dearCaroline, if the news has pained you."

"Nothing!" repeated the astonished girl. "Caroline, you areincomprehensible. Why did you treat him with such marked attention ifyou cared nothing for him?"

"For a very simple reason; because it gave me pleasure to prove that itwas in my power to do that for which other girls have tried invain--compel the proud lordly St. Eval to bow to a woman's will." Pridehad returned again. She felt the pleasure of triumphant power, and hereyes sparkled and her cheek again flushed, but with a different emotionto that she had felt before.

"Do you mean, then, that you have never loved him, and merely sportedwith his feelings, for your own amusement? Caroline, I will not believeit. You could not have acted with such cruelty; you do love him, but youreject my confidence. I do not ask you to confide in me, though I didhope I should have been your chosen friend; but I beseech, I imploreyou, Caroline, only to say that you are jesting. You do love him."

"You are mistaken, Emmeline, never more so in your life. I have refusedhis offered hand; if you wish my confidence on this subject, I give ityou. As he is a favourite of yours, I do not doubt your preserving hissecret inviolate. I might have been Countess of St. Eval, but my end wasaccomplished, and I dismissed my devoted cavalier."

"And can you, dare you jest on such a subject?" exclaimed Emmeline,indignantly. "Is it possible you can have wilfully acted thus? sportedwith the feelings of such a man as St. Eval, laughed at his pain, calledforth his love to gratify your desire of power? Caroline, shame on you!"

"I am not in the habit of being schooled as to right and wrong by ayounger sister, nor will I put up with it now, Emmeline. I neverinterfere with your conduct, and therefore you will, if you please, dothe same with me. I am not responsible to you for my actions, nor shallI ever be," replied Caroline, with cold yet angry pride.

"But I will speak, when I know you have acted contrary to thoseprinciples mamma has ever endeavoured to instill into us both," repliedEmmeline, still indignantly; "and you are and have been ever welcome toremonstrate with me. I am not so weak as I once was, fearful to speak mysentiments even when I knew them to be right. You have acted shamefully,cruelly, Caroline, and I will tell you what I think, angry as it maymake you."

A haughty and contemptuous answer rose to Caroline's lips, but she wasprevented giving it utterance by the entrance of Martyn, her mother'smaid, with her lady's commands that Miss Hamilton should attend her inthe boudoir.

"How provoking!" she exclaimed. "I expect Annie to call for me everyminute, and mamma will perhaps detain me half an hour;" and mostunwillingly she obeyed the summons.

"Annie," repeated Emmeline, when her sister had left the room,"Annie--this is her work; if my sister had not been thus intimate withher she never would have acted in this manner." And so disturbed was thegentle girl at this confirmation of her fears, that it was some littletime before she could recover sufficient serenity to rejoin Ellen inarranging the widow's packet.

Mrs. Langford had the charge of Oakwood during the absence of thefamily, and Mrs. Hamilton, recollecting some affairs concerning thevillage schools she wished the widow to attend to, was writing herdirections as Caroline entered, much to the latter's increasedannoyance, as her mother's business with her would thus be retarded, andevery minute drew the time of Annie's appointment nearer. She could